


Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation, and Snark

by mrs_d



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, rated for language and description of minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 08:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14848869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: “We’re not going to the hospital,” Sam said. “I’m fine.”Steve bit his tongue and sighed. They’d just have to do this the hard way.





	Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation, and Snark

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little page-breaker while my brain works on problems in my big fics.

On a sweltering night in July, Steve was in Nebraska with Sam, tracking reports of a homeless man with a prosthetic arm who’d jumped into a fight at a Neo-Nazi rally. It wasn’t much to go on, and, even though Steve knew Bucky loved punching Nazis as much as he did, he doubted the Winter Soldier would chance being so visible. Still, at this point, any lead was worth looking into, so here they were.

They’d just checked into the motel — a run-down building that proudly advertised its PO-L and AIR CON-I-IONI-G — when things went sideways. Steve was in the bathroom, washing the sweat of a long day’s drive off his face when he heard a loud crack that was immediately followed by a string of curses that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in a barracks.

He rushed out, fearing the worst, but Sam was upright, balancing on one foot and still swearing. “What happened?” Steve demanded.

“Walked into the fucking TV,” Sam gritted out. “Because of course this place has the same goddamned kind of TV as my grandma. Heaviest— fucking— piece of furniture— fuck!”

“Here,” Steve said, offering his arm. He helped Sam hobble to one of the beds and got him sitting down.

“Thanks,” said Sam, exhaling sharply as he sat down. “You know it wouldn’t kill us to stay somewhere with a flat screen once in a while.”

“Sorry,” said Steve quickly. He hadn’t even noticed the television in the rooms they’d been renting; it wasn’t like they ever turned it on. “Next time we will.”

“Sure we will,” Sam said. He stretched his foot out and grimaced. “And then I’ll get to watch you have a stroke at how much it costs to stay at a hotel that doesn’t have fleas.”

Steve had to bite back a laugh at that. His frugality — _fucking cheap is what you are,_ Sam told him — had been a point of playful contention between them for months now. The familiar joke relieved him, too; Sam couldn’t be too hurt if he was still up for giving Steve a hard time.

“Probably,” Steve agreed. “Let me take a look,” he said, crouching down on the floor at the end of the bed.

Sam still hissed when he removed the sock, even though Steve had tried to do it as gently as he could. There was no blood at least, but Sam’s second smallest toe was sitting at a strange angle, and it was already swelling, ballooning to almost twice the size of the others.

“I think it’s broken,” Steve announced, sitting back on his heels.

“It’s not broken,” Sam protested. “I just stubbed it, it can’t be—”

“Well, can you move it?” Steve asked.

“Maybe?” Steve watched Sam’s foot closely — the toe in question half-curled along with the others, though not much. “It’s like your pinkie,” Sam went on, his teeth still tight with pain. “It’s hard to move on its own.”

“Well, lift it up, let me get you some ice,” Steve instructed, grabbing the pillow off the other bed to put under Sam’s ankle. “Then we’ll hit the ER and get it x-rayed.”

“That’s not— we don’t need to do that,” Sam said, though he sat back when Steve nudged him, and accepted the pillow. “It’ll be fine by morning.”

Steve raised his eyebrows skeptically, but he went outside and filled a bag of ice instead of arguing. When he came back he found Sam some ibuprofen and let him change the subject.

* * *

By the next morning, as Steve could have predicted, Sam’s toe was huge and sickly purple, pushing against its bruised neighbors uncomfortably. Sam couldn’t even put a sock on.

“We’re going to the hospital,” Steve told him, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“They’re not gonna do anything for me, even if it is broken,” he argued. “Might as well just tape it here.”

“What if it needs more than that, though?” Steve asked. He was no medic, and the injuries he was familiar with tended to be a little more complicated. Sam _was_ a medic, but who was good at assessing their own injuries?

“It doesn’t,” said Sam. “Plus, I’d rather save my insurance company the hassle.”

“You’ve got coverage through Tony’s Avengers plan,” Steve pointed out.

Sam leveled a dry look at him. “Do you really think we can pass this off as a workplace injury?”

“Sure,” Steve said with a shrug. “I’ll just say tiny HYDRA agents attacked your foot.”

Sam blinked. “Tiny HYDRA agents,” he repeated.

Steve nodded, struggling to keep a straight face. “Nobody’ll question it if Captain America says it.”

“Yeah, well, someday somebody’s gonna realize Captain America’s full of shit,” Sam muttered, but he was grinning. Steve grinned back, until Sam said, “We’re not going to the hospital, I’m fine.”

Steve bit his tongue and sighed. They’d just have to do this the hard way.

He turned his attention back to his tablet and let a few minutes pass in silence before asking, “Can you do me a favor and grab me that file from the other side of the room?”

Sam put down his phone and glared at him, but — and this was what Steve loved about Sam — he wasn’t one to back away from a challenge. He heaved himself up from the bed, till he was standing on his uninjured foot, then gingerly shifted his weight. Steve glanced over casually as he inhaled through his teeth.

“Still fine,” Sam insisted before Steve could say anything.

“Uh huh,” Steve said agreeably.

Sam stepped forward on his good foot, then did an awkward half-shuffle step with the other. He repeated this process, taking double or even triple the amount of time he normally would to get across the small room. Finally, he picked up a file and brought it back to Steve, dropping it unceremoniously at his side.

Steve waited until Sam got settled on the bed again before he picked it up, leafed through it, and said, as sweetly as he could, “Sorry, I meant the other file.”

“Asshole,” Sam exhaled in the direction of the ceiling. “Fine. You win. We’ll go to the hospital. But when the doctor tells me there’s nothing I can do except tape it to the other ones, not even your tiny HYDRA line will save you.”

“Thank you,” Steve said politely, and he helped Sam out to the car.

* * *

It turned out that Sam did break his toe— two of them, in fact, and one of them had to be reset. Steve very generously didn’t gloat.

Much.


End file.
